CUBBY'S CHILLY CHALLENGE Pt II aka OUR MAN GETS HIS FINGER OUT

In part two of his Arctic odyssey, Cubby passes on climbing, has the boat ride of a lifetime and "pulls" in the toughest bar in town

Working on a film in a part of the world that has had so much to offer a climber is always a rather sacrilegious experience. But this is work and any thoughts of climbing for myself have to be put to the back of my mind - a sort of "look but don't touch" kind of attitude! To be honest, I found it quite refreshing to be free from the stresses often associated with technical climbing objectives.

The Arctic Challenge started with the prologue which went well for the Scots but four punctures on the return leg left them in a disappointing fifth position out of six teams - East and West Greenland, Denmark, England and Austria. The Moroccan team was disqualified on political grounds. With the first event complete we could now move to Ammassalik.

Compared to climbing, events like this are very fast moving and for us to be in our strategic positions at checkpoints to film the action means that we had to be well ahead of the competitors.

So, needless to say, early starts are the order of the day but the beauty of not using helicopters for our transport means that we did some wonderful walks and scrambles to reach these check points.

At the end of Day Three, with the Scots and the Austrians jostling for first place, Keith (climbing cameraman) and I were elected to film one of the most remote stages on Day Four.

This involved a two hour boat trip up the Sermilikvejen Fjord and an overnight camp. We had a great day leading up to this point. Several kilometres north of Tusilaq we walked up a beautiful, open river valley and then turned steeply into a hanging coire and on to the snow line, which I though was reminiscent of the Serpentine above the Ottemma Glacier in Switzerland. We finished with a rather rubbly scramble that led to a col with magnificent views of the Mittivakkat Glacier and the ice cap beyond.

This stage of the event was one of the most technical and potentially a very serious day for the competitors. The scramble was loose and dangerous, and at the col the glacier had pulled away from the mountainside to reveal a large bergschrund topped by a steep wall of snow and ice.

The Ice Cliff, as is became affectionately known, was avoidable but caught up in the pressure of a competition I feared that the teams would take the most direct route. Keith and I were together and also with us was my colleague and fellow safety officer Mark. So, help was on hand should it be needed.

Despite working four hours ahead, the first teams were not long arriving. The Austrians in front, closely followed by the Scots, as they rapidly dispensed with the loose scramble. At the col the Austrians scanned the ice cliff, walking its entire length to find a feasible way down into the glacier.

Then, a hive of frantic activity ensued. Crampons were strapped to their lightweight fell running shoes, harnesses donned, ropes uncoiled and ice axes readied. But, some were only wearing instep crampons with no front points at all!

Suddenly, the Scots arrived prompting the Austrians into immediate action. They started lowering each other down the 50 degree slope.

This was serious terrain and the thought of these ill equipped teams moving together down this ice sheet was worrying. Safety was not really our call as far as the event was concerned and Mark was out of sight at another camera position so I had no-one to turn to. It was great action for cameraman Keith, but in the end I felt I had to say something so I suggested that if everyone looks more closely at their maps they'll find an alternative easier route into the glacier.

There was a tremendous sense of relief.

"Thanks mate," said one of the Austrians as they disappeared over a small mountain top only to reappear as tiny dots moving in unison across the wild expanse of the Mittivakkat glacier.

We briefed the remaining teams as they approached the col and then started our descent; all of us wondering aloud how many times these valleys had been walked in and their summits stood upon. Not too many we suspected.

Later that evening we rendezvous with Tomas our boatman. The ice pack had closed right in the previous night but he was confident that the currents had altered its flow permitting a feasible route.

We carefully manoeuvred out of the Tusilaq bay and then Tomas opened up the throttle of Arctic Rief. Within seconds we were powering up the fjords doing 45 knots. It was pretty gripping. With one hand on the wheel and the other on the throttle Tomas cooly slaloming between floating islands of pack ice. Tweeking the throttle he'd skew the back end of the boat to contour around small icebergs. One mistake and we'd be history! Then he'd bank the boat to the left to avoid some ice and then again, banking even further, then hard right but never taking his hand off the throttle. It was a truly awesome display of boatmanship.

As the sun dropped down beneath the horizon a magnificent pink hue illuminated the tops of the bigger ice caps, some of which must have been 75 m high or more. It was quite surreal.

Very occasionally, Tomas would slow down and unzip the plastic window for a closer look at what was ahead. To the untrained eye it was a complete mystery how someone could move a boat so quickly through what appeared to be a maze of jumbled, densely packed ice.

But then he suddenly slowed down almost to a halt and jumped up on top of the deck to scan the way ahead. Not once had Tomas needed to go into reverse but this time I thought our luck had run out. He lit another cigarette and radioed a seal fishing boat which was moored up several miles to our north. Smiles. Apparently there was a way through.

Slowly, Tomas nudged some pack ice until, reluctantly, it parted. And before long we were clear of the worst of it. 43 knots it read on the speedo as we resumed our slalom course.

Eventually we and turned into an inlet, not far from Tinit Island which marked the finish to the end of Day Four. In only a metre of water Tomas skilfully nosed up against some rocks.

"Did you enjoy that?" I asked.

"Very much," was his reply with a huge grin. Keith and I jumped ashore shouting our goodbyes.

The silence was incredible. A few stray icebergs floated into the inlet, creeking and cracking and occasionally collapsing into the sea. Sometimes a chunk of ice would collapse leaving the 'berg top heavy and it would turn turtle, sending mini tsunami waves lapping up around the rocks beside our camp.

It had been a long day so we had a brew and turned in. All night the ice moaned and groaned. It was very eerie and I could not help thinking that there might be a peckish polar bear or two looking for an evening snack!

Night passed blessedly incident free and morning dawned bright and sunny. We had hoped for a bit of a lie-in but it was far too warm. As our proposed camera position was near the end of today's course, we had plenty of time to relax and chat.

All going well today, Keith would be dropped at Tinit island where he would spend the night with Jackie, the competitors and the rest of the crew.

A river crossing beneath the backdrop of a huge glacier snout provided the highlight of my day. And as usual, after hours of camera position preparation the teams sprinted past providing us with literally seconds of footage!

The Austrians were still holding onto their lead, the Scots in hot pursuit. With our task completed we returned to our camp just in time for Tomas to pick us up once more. On our arrival at Tinit we were to learn of a mass exodus by the inhabitants. "Narwhal" an elderly little character would keep repeating and pointing out to sea.

A Narwhal is a type of whale with a unicorn-like horn. Much prized by the Tinit people, the village was instantly deserted at the news of its whereabouts.

With Keith dropped off, Tomas took Phil (our other climbing cameraman), Mark and myself to our next location. A perfect little flat spot perched above 30 metres of cliff that dropped steeply into a sheltered bay. It provided an idyllic camp site.

Covering a check point on the previous day, Phil, John and Brian Hall had raced about huge cliffs and boulders of immaculate rock and suggested that I should take my rock shoes and chalk bag along, which I did. But once we had cooked dinner, downed a few drams and watched the sun settling over this incredible landscape I wasn't quite in the mood.

Another serious day was in prospect for the competitors. A kayak though the pack ice of the Sermilik Fjord followed by a steep scramble up a loose scree-filled gully. In contrast, after a lazy start Phil and I donned our 50lb loads and made our way to a col at the top of the gully.

The Austrians were still holding on to their lead and now looking like the clear winners. We filmed all but one of the remaining teams and headed down. Inspired by the spirit of the competitors we jogged down the other side of the col and down into Tasilaq. Nothing to do with getting back to the hotel before the buffet closed!

After some food we all retired to the bar to reflect on the past week. Phil and I were buzzing after our jog and we had just finished saying how it was a pity we didn't have the time to mix with the competitors when Team Scotland walked through the door, John Coyle holding court as usual.

"Fancy a drink, boys?" he said in his typical West Coast manner.

There was a bar next door to the hotel. A sort of Seaman's Mission which we were told is apparently popular with alcoholics and the toughest bar in Tasilaq.

"Sounds great," said John. "Let's try it out".

We opened the door of a long wooden building and through a thick haze of cigarette smoke the majority of heads turned and concentration dwindled momentarily before the babble resumed full volume. The opening "multi-alien-nation" bar scene in Star Wars comes to mind. Within moments Phil had been accosted by an Inuit woman who dragged him across her lap and wouldn't let go! A wiry little man insisted on coming up to me, stroking my arms and pleading for something that I really didn't want to know about.

One of the team got pulled into a strange sort of arm wrestling. Then everyone started shouting "Cubby". It was John Coyle's doing.

"Scotland's finest young man," shouted John again.

"Come on Cubby", everyone chanted.

My mind flashed back to a time in Glencoe's Kingshouse Hotel when I wrestled legendary climbing hardman Don Whillans.

Wow, talk about the bar scene in Star Wars! Needless to say he won but it took me over a week to recover. Arm wrestling is definitely bad news for injuries so I declined.

But then, from a dark corner of the bar a young man was sent forth to challenge me. I realised I had no choice, the pressure was truly on. The young Inuit sat opposite, on the other side of the table. Sat next to him was a strangely attractive Inuit girl and next to her Tasilaq's transvestite judge.

Am eager crowd was gathering round. The little wiry man stood by me. A woman sat close to me. Her dress sense was almost trendy and her hair had a vaguely 60s Cilla Black look but her face was leathery and her toothless gums rather frightening. Both were eating lots of what appeared to be small rhubarb leaves, washed down with bottled beer. They consumed large quantities of these leaves and judging by their trance-like state I can only assume that they had some sort of hallucinogenic properties.

The young man positioned his arm straight out in front of him, with a gesture that I should do the same. He then clenched his fist bar the middle finger. I did the same. The bar went quiet. Everyone turned to watch. I felt nervous despite having had a good few drinks. It was a nervousness I hadn't experienced since my climbing comp days.

Then our middle fingers engaged, locked and coupled together. I pulled slightly to assess his strength, as did he, but neither of us really committed ourselves. Then he really started to pull but his fingers were quite thin compared with mine. I pulled back with a vengeance, back towards the centre of the table where I paused for a few seconds.

"Come on Cubby," cried the Scottish mob.

I increased the power as much as I could muster and I pulled his hand all the way to my side of the table.

I'd done it, I'd won this bizarre contest.

But then things got a bit madder.

Women kept coming up to me and stroking my arms, face and hair. "You are so strong!"

It was only later that I discovered all the fuss was because I'd beaten the East Greenland Champion. It was a typical John Coyle-ism to keep this key piece of information until after the event.

So, I might not have done any climbing on my trip to Greenland but it was nice to leave my mark in one sense or another!

Oh, yes, and in that other event - the Austrians won with the Scottish team a very close second.

Cubby
7/9/2001